Rosarito

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Road tripping with my three favorite allies...
I started something with a late night text message to my homegirl Laine after I had a few watermelon martinis with Daniel at Taps in Brea. No one except Miss Laine and Lisa J would drive to Mexico on the fly, and Dan couldn't resist making the trip with us. L&L transport arrived at 11am the following morning to pick us up. Here we go Mexico and Dog House Radio!

Persistant niñas tapped their tanned hands on our shirt tails, desperate to make a buck for their families selling vibrant sunflowers and red roses, engraved leather hair bows and colorful hand-woven bracelets. This was my first trip to a third world country, where peddlers were peddling to support their families, unlike the American homeless peddling for booze at a free concert among the luxuries of San Francisco's Golden Gate Park.

Our day trip destination was Puerto Nuevo for lobster tacos. We stopped off in Rosarito for some rum and beer, homemade churros (thick coiled fried dough fritters sprinkled with sugar) and a bottle of tequila for Daniel's brother. Three stray dogs rolling on their backs and kicking mites off their ears lingered at the front door, flinging their testicles like jewels of the baja. The liquor store owner gave us shots of almond tequila, another kind of tequila, and another kind of tequila, sending us away slightly buzzzed. Our stomachs and noses led us to the taco stand where a sweet mother gave a flower to Laine as her sad-eyed daughter followed steps behind, demanding a buck as her mom walked away, acting oblivious to her daughter's game. Her big brown eyes swept our hearts away ... and our money. We ate carne asada tacos cooked before our eyes outside on the grill, chopped on a tree trunk stump, then smothered in homemade guacamole and chile. Big hat Mexican cowboys toted wooden patriotic wagons spiked with Mexican flags rippling in the wind and warm colorful blankets piled high. Clubs bumped hip hop and dance music and young party animals hung out in the street bars. We stopped back in the liquor store to pick up some bottles of tequila and say good-bye to Rosarito and the three dogs by the door.

Traveling south on Highway 1, the worn, bumpy asphalt snaked around the Pacific, cruising past furniture merchants, antique markets, intense clay pottery sales, and patio furniture dealers tucked between Mexican built stucco homes, oceanfront shacks made of scrap metal and wood, gated resorts, and random high rise hotels facing the ocean.

We arrived in Puerto Nuevo, along with everyone else looking for cheap lobster tacos. The parking lot was full. We searched out patio dining and tore into our margaritas and bacon-wrapped crab stuffed shrimp. The waiter was pleasant and his red cheeks seemed slightly buzzed on margaritas too. The oceanfront restaurant was slotted between three story shacks that lined the ocean endlessly to the north and south. A white and brown spotted dog sunbathed on the roof while a young girl yelled to children below from her window. The flimsy window fell out of the wall and the girl gently picked it up and put it back in place. A small boy and girl played on the rusted swing set, laughing hysterically at each other as the swing launched them into the air and and uncontrollably tickled their bellies. An older guy cleaned fresh fish from the boat near the children. With one chop of the head and 2 small slices, he threw the fillets in the stack to the right as he tossed the bones and head in the bait bucket. Our waiter explained that the boat leaving for the big rock in the distance catches the lobster for this family owned restaurant. The thin, weathered, wooden boat could barely hold a mouse, and was the backbone of this restaurant. Beans, rice, lobster, home made tortillas, guacamole, and salsa covered our table, and speechless friends stuffed their faces until nothing was left.

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